


Konahrik

by EletrikBluez



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Animal Transformation, Blood and Gore, Child Murder, Dragon Cult, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Dragonspeak, F/F, F/M, Female Konahrik, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, Interrogation, Kings & Queens, Magic-Users, Medieval Themes, Mental Disintegration, Mental Instability, Mentor/Protégé, Miraak Feels, Narcissism, Necromancy, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Ending, Sadism, Sexual Content, Time Travel, Torture, Vampire Turning, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EletrikBluez/pseuds/EletrikBluez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the past and rule of a character we only know by their past.</p>
<p>Lorolei of the Village Skaal. </p>
<p>Just a young woman with no title, who is summoned by the World Eater, Alduin, and turned into one of the most fearsome and powerful warlords in history.</p>
<p>Documenting a desperate and complicated relationship with the First Dragonborn, the betrayals in her kingdom - of dragons and Priests and her mighty fall from highest power to just dust in the wind.</p>
<p>****I hate summaries****</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted by Reg Do Kun on FanFiction.net, but she asked me to take it over here until she gets the chance to work on it over there again.  
> I won't give you a long list of details but, despite the 'sad ending' tag and what we know of the Dragon Cult history, this will end not in a way you expect.  
> Just enjoy, give kudos, give love.

A throne of antlers, she sits, watching her court squabble amongst themselves. She yawns, fingers stretching languidly over her lips as she crosses her right leg over her left; her armor clinks loudly as she does so but no one seems to notice, too caught up in themselves.

"Petty," she murmurs, snatching a goblet from a platter to her left.

The servant holding aforementioned platter flinches as she does so and that causes her to cackle madly. Her court now silences, watching as she chortles away, spilling red liquid onto the stone in front of her throne; red droplets catch around her knees. When she notices the silence in the grand hall, a fixed glare clears the room.

A sigh leaves her lips and she places the goblet back on the platter, standing from her throne. She grabs her sword from where it is leant against the side of her seat, the chilled blade exposed to the braziers scattered around the room, sending specks of blue against the walls.

Stahlrim, as hard as a dragons hide and colder than death.

She cradles the blade in her hands for a moment, peering down at it almost lovingly. A joyous cacophony of noises fills her ears: her mothers laughter, a child's praise, the snap of a bowstring from the moment she was first taught to wield such a weapon...by the very same man that brought her this far.

She stops her thoughts, clenching the hilt of her sword tightly before storming from her throne room.


	2. Chapter 2

How amazing it felt, to walk with one's head held so high. Sure, she had never been the most mild-mannered girl, but this kind of power was never granted to her.

Well, until now obviously.

Chin held high, she pushed open the doors to the Thoroughfare, skipping up the steps with her sword bouncing against her hip. As she passed, metal gates closed behind her, a precaution with the recent raid that made it into the sanctum. Thus proving that sometimes the impossible is...possible.

Entering upon a large room that echoed back the crackle of the fires in their braziers, the young Priestess paused, watching in sorrow as slave workers hoisted new coffins onto wooden prongs hammered into the stone wall. She looked to her right, seeing a gathering of twenty-three crudely cut grave markers and sighed, rubbing her forehead; they were losing more and more people everyday. To be basically a queen and watch your people dying around you? Gods, it made her feel so helpless.

"Konahrik," a gravely voice echoed in her ear. "Stressed again?"

She looked over her shoulder to her court advisor, Marcus. He was dressed in his ceremonial blue robes, the hems lined in a soft fabric soaked with red wine for color. She smiled and followed beside him, past the graves and the slaves working; one was coughing into a rag and she made a gesture to one of the guards to dispose of him. He nodded stiffly and grabbed the hilt of his sword, stomping towards the slave while Konahrik turned away.

"Yes," she stepped out of the way of a frantic steward, chuckling as the young Nord tripped over the edge of her gown. "If we don't get this virus in check soon, I fear we will have to call off the banquet."

"You worry about beasts that only see you in your bed."

The woman cackled. "A-As if I would crawl between their sheets!"

Marcus smiled. "I do not believe you would do so myself, but they see your place either there or in their kitchens. They see you nothing more than a naive young woman in over her head."

She - now named Konahrik - huffed, pausing while four slave workers grabbed the handles of a large, carved door and heaves the two panels open. "I do not care about their opinions and notions," she sighed. "I was chosen by Alduin himself, I am better than all of them."

She pauses in honest marvel as they pass the threshold of the Grand Hall, the magnificence of this place never ceasing to amaze her. The ceiling is too high to see, two thick cliffs of stone leading a jagged crag above their heads. Pillars dig into the stone, carved from its very body. Down the center of the room, a pale moonstone table stretches the length of the room. Heaped on it's top are fat bowls of fruits and cooked vegetables, platters of exotic meat ranging from venison of the great stags of the Northern Rift to the humble tenders of Silt Striders.

The room smells heavenly and there are many faces lining the tables, laughing and chatting over their meals, some people mingling in the corners of the room, full goblets in their hands. Konahrik shakes her head and motions for Marcus to follow her through the throng of people, her heart racing as she steps through to the entrance hall. Rahgot stands off to the side, hissing at a flustered servant while he cradles his mask in his hand. When he sees Konahrik, he glares, forcing his mask back onto his face, secured with his gold-laden headdress.

That little moment only increases her maddening joy. The power to anger a high ranking Dragon Priest, it makes her blush.

When she steps out into the snow, her heart flutters and she looks like a proud parent surveying the ever-growing city she governs. Then, she remembers Marcus and peers down at him; she's a good head taller than him.

"Marcus," he hums and slowly closes the scroll he had opened while she day dreamed. ""Why did you come to me? I know it was not for idle chat."

He stares at her for a minute then stuffs his scroll into his satchel. "Yes, that," he coughed into the side of his hand, now hesitant. "Lord Paarthunax wished to speak to you..."

Konahrik froze, staring at him for so long, he was afraid he broke her. But, she finally looked away, fingers flexing at her sides.

"I've been waiting for this..."

Was it too late to admit she was afraid of her Lord Alduin's brother? Probably so...

 

\--------------------  
*Pre-Title*  
\--------------------

 

Pulling the cowl and mask from her face, Lorolei is mildly surprised to see the cart and horses scattered outside her small, developing village. She shakes her hair free and narrows her eyes slightly, grip on her spear tightening as she approaches the village; the horses snort and shuffle as she passes, but she pays this behavior no mind. Horses have never really liked her and the feeling was mutual.

Several of her kin are gathered around the entrance of the Hall, murmurs causing a light buzz to fill the air. The workers still hammering at the building glare at those gathered in agitation. The whispers die as she approaches, shrugging off the load of fish she had been catching into the arms of a familiar face; the crowd slowly disperses as she closes the door behind her.

In the center of the room is a large, U shaped table flanked with the faces of the local healer, blacksmith, shaman and an advisor from some larger settlement up North. Her mother and father are seated behind the curve, shoulders tense as they eye the man with his back to them. He leans back on the desk, watching the maid pull her coat from her shoulders; she grows increasingly uncomfortable as he eyes the light Stahlrim armor she wears.

He is unfamiliar, in face. But the power simply pulsing off of him is enough to confirm her suspicions.

Miraak.

His lips twitch as she bows slightly. "Father," she begins as she straightens her back. "What is this?"

Miraak raises a hand and flourishes it, successfully silencing any words her father would speak. When he speaks, his deep voice sounds so bored.

"Our lord, Alduin, has requested your presence at Bromunjaar. His inner council is waiting with much anticipation for our arrival."

It feels like the air has been snatched from her lungs. Her knees wobble but she doesn't give out, just swallows. "I will gather my things..."

Before she can turn however, he chuckles lightly. "I am afraid we will have to send for them later. We are already behind schedule."

She nods, knowing their is no refusing the order. A Dragon Priest, he has more power and talent in the stitching of his robes than she does in her pinkie toe. An order is given, you obey, no complaining.

She doesn't get the chance to say goodbye to her parents because a guard in leather armor escorts her from the building. Miraak grabs his mask from where it was laid on the edge of the table and gives her parents a slight bob of the head before following the guard; when the door closes, her mother cries, her father doesn't move. The whole town watches her be escorted to the cart in silence, even the dogs are quiet. The horses snort and patter again but are stopped from their worrying by their handlers gripping their reigns.

Lorolei tenses as she feels a hand on her hip, mildly amusing Miraak as he steadies her while she climbs into the cart. Once they are both seated, the driver unties the horses from the trees and begins to steer them down the cliff side; Lorolei picks at her fingers while Miraak shuffles rolls of documents from a deer-hide satchel.

After moments of agonizing silence, she is bumped in the shoulder and looks up, seeing a ring pinched between Miraak's gloved fingers. It is composed of three golden hoops with red gems molded to each separate hoops. She takes it without needing to be told and pulls off her gloves, sliding it onto the ring finger of her right hand.

"It is the Ring of the Beast. Wear it at all times," Miraak instructed; she glanced down and saw him slide a similar ring on his same finger, only the gems were green. "Each council member has their own, they are made of Blood Magic."

Her skin bristles; she licks her lips, flexing her fingers. "This means..." she is a part of Alduin, The World Eater's, Council. She licks her lips again and folds her hands in her lap. "I'm not coming home...am I?"

He is silent for a long moment. "No."

She refuses to cry.


End file.
